


Inside the Cocoon

by vega_voices



Series: Sleeps with Butterflies [13]
Category: CSI, CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 15:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He’d fled partly because of work, partly because of her, partly because he was a middle-aged man who chose to teach seminars on bugs rather than get a sports car.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inside the Cocoon

**Title:** Inside the Cocoon  
 **Series:** [Sleeps with Butterflies](http://vega-voices.livejournal.com/tag/sleeps%20with%20butterflies)  
 **Author:** vegawriters  
 **Fandom:** CSI  
 **Pairing:** Sara/Grissom  
 **Rating:** Adult  
 **Timeframe:** _Law of Gravity_  
 **A/N:** This is part of the Sleeps with Butterflies series and holds all of the warnings associated with this series.  
 **Disclaimer:** I don’t own, don’t claim to own, although I wish I could have a hand in writing them. Seriously. Please don’t sue me. Hire me instead.

 **Summary:** _He’d fled partly because of work, partly because of her, partly because he was a middle-aged man who chose to teach seminars on bugs rather than get a sports car._

She was leaning against the only clean corner of his desk when he entered his office. Her shift was over and she was dressed for the day in tight jeans and the red tank top he’d given to her on her last birthday. Her face was scrubbed clean, her hair up in a loose ponytail. She was in sandals and her toenails were painted red. Around her neck was the butterfly pendant he’d bought for her all the way back when they were dating in San Francisco. Grissom reminded his body to keep breathing.

“I really should be pissed at you, you know,” Sara crossed one leg in front of the other and shifted her weight in her hips. “You disappear to the other side of the country and all I get are occasional one-line emails. The only reason I’m talking instead of giving you the silent treatment is that cocoon you sent.” She paused and shook her head, “All I needed to know about how you were doing and what was in your head was in that box. Let’s forget that you didn’t even send a note to go along with it.” She tilted her head at him. “You’re lucky I understand you, Gilbert.”

He was lucky she understood him. Still, his conscious mind screamed hat they needed to have this conversation anywhere but his office. Anyone could walk in and he really didn’t want the lab to be witness to the hard-on he was sporting. But he also knew this was the only place they could have this conversation. He’d fled partly because of work, partly because of her, partly because he was a middle-aged man who chose to teach seminars on bugs rather than get a sports car. “I am lucky,” he said. He meant it too. Any man in the lab could have her, any woman too. She didn’t just choose him, she loved him. “And I’m sorry.”

“You came back,” she said, looking around the office. “But, are you home?”

Her eyes met his and he swallowed past the lump in his throat. He knew what she meant. She wasn’t talking about just being back in the lab, but talking about her, about the house they’d finally set up how they wanted before he disappeared. She was talking about the jersey sheets on the bed and the scarves in the toy box and the set of antique bookshelves they’d ordered to go in the living room. She meant the Tibetan Singing Bowl on the table by the window in the bedroom and the mauve towels in the downstairs bathroom, and the portrait a friend of his had taken of them. She was asking if he was ready for the inevitable, when their secret was discovered, when they had to go beyond this affair that was so much more than an affair, when they’d be on different shifts and have wedding rings on their fingers.

“Yes,” he said. There was no hesitation in his voice, no question as to his motives. He loved her. He still didn’t understand how to make it all work, but he loved her.

Actions meant more than words and, knowing the door was open but not caring, he crossed to the desk, wrapped his hand around the back of her head, and brought her lips to his. The kiss was bruising. Her fingers curled in the front of his shirt and one leg tucked behind him, pulling him closer. She smelled of toothpaste and lemons and lavender shampoo. When they broke for air she glanced over his shoulder and then looked back at him.

“Close the door, Gil.”

It was then he realized the shades were already drawn. In seconds he’d crossed the room, closed the door, flipped the lock, and had her back in his arms. Her tank top was already behind her and the black lace bra she was almost wearing stayed in place while he unzipped her jeans and peeled them from her. Her endless legs opened before him and he sat in the desk chair, pulled it closer, and leaned in to press his mouth to the scrap of lace between her thighs. Sara moaned and arched her back and somewhere in the back of his mind he recognized the sound of files hitting the floor. He didn’t care. While his mouth worked her through the lace, his tongue pressing to her clit, his teeth dragging along the cloth, she whimpered curses in his direction. “Fuck me, Gil,” she moaned.

It was all it took. They’d have a romantic reunion later, in front of the fire. He’d pour wine and tell her about the seminar and she’d explain all he’d missed while he was away. But, right now, it was about claiming her. She sat up, undid his pants, and pulled them down just enough to free him while he shoved her panties to the side. Her long fingers worked his cock, tormenting him even as he kissed her, letting her taste herself on his lips. His hand moved down her back and he pulled her to the edge of the desk, giving him the leverage he needed to plunge into her. She cried out and he covered her mouth with his hand to stifle the noise. “Shhhh.” He teased. “Can’t let them hear you.” She bit his hand while he fucked her, he sucked her neck hard enough that she’d be wearing scarves for a week.

She came first, crying around his fingers but he kept going, thrusting until she was begging for relief. When he exploded into her she collapsed back onto the desk, her elbows catching her. Their bodies were still joined and he looked down and stroked her before extracting.

He pulled up his pants and buttoned them before retrieving Sara’s clothes for her. He helped her back into her jeans and slid the tank top over her head. It was the least he could do to reward her for playing the part of his office harlot. When she kissed him, he held her close, one hand cradling her head, one arm securing her against his body. She molded into the embrace, her lips against his neck.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Please remember that.”

“I know,” came her quiet response. “Remember that too.” He kissed her again and broke away. They’d made a mess. Files and letters were everywhere and there was a huge box he wanted to ignore. “I’ll help you clean up,” she said and he smiled. Really, it was a chance to watch her bend over in those jeans and she knew it.

The office smelled of sex, and a spray of the Lysol he kept in the desk helped to cover the scent. But, when he opened the door, Jim was standing outside, poised to knock. “Gil!” The detective looked at the mess on the office floor, looked at Sara, and looked back at him. He smirked knowingly and raised an eyebrow. “Should I come back?”

Sara turned as red as her tank top. Gil swallowed. For all the stolen moments at the office, they’d somehow managed to get away with it. Until now. Well, playing with fire did lead to accidents. Sara put a last stack of files on his desk and walked over, making a point to put her hand on his arm. There wasn’t any reason to hide it now. “I’ll see you at home, Gil.”

The secret was out and pretending they hadn’t just been caught fucking like rabbits in his office did no one any good. So he just nodded and squeezed her arm gently. “Okay.”

Both men watched Sara walk down the hall. Jim let out a slow breath and Grissom waited. Finally the other man spoke. “You’ve been making eyes at her for seven years. How long has it really been going on?”

“Since 96,” Grissom confessed. It actually felt good to speak about it. “With a few years off for my bad behavior.”

Jim snorted and stood still for a minute. Again, Grissom waited. “You hurt her,” Jim’s voice was low and dangerous, the same tone he used with suspects, “and I swear to God I’ll kill you, Gil. She’s been through enough in her life. She doesn’t need the man she loves breaking her heart.”

Gil knew he was the only one who knew everything, but Jim was a smart guy and Sara, more often than not, wore her feelings on her sleeve. “I hurt her,” he responded, “and I might as well kill myself.”

They were silent a minute more before Jim turned around and walked into the office. Grissom followed, taking the time to open the blinds. “How was Massachusetts?”

“Quiet.” Grissom stared at the mess on his desk and then leaned against the same corner Sara had occupied. “How can I help you, Jim?” The object of his desire was sauntering out of the lab and back to the house and all he wanted to catch up to her and pin her against the wall and remind her just how much he’d missed her. But, as with all aspects of their lives, work came first. So he turned to his friend and waited. This had better be good.


End file.
